liberty leading the people
by Phantom Thief Oryx
Summary: Tsaubern starts a revolution. Buchse slowly loses his mind. — Tierkreis, Slash
1. Chapter 1

**a/n;** 1) Ritterschild is steampunk. I have no regrets.  
>2) Dear lord I am terrible at coming up with names for peopleplaces.  
>3) Since most of these characters don't have much of a role in the game, my interpretations of them might not be the same as yours. Sorry in advance if they seem OOC to you. :T<p>

xx

xx

"This is bullshit!" Minen exclaims, slamming her mug down on the table forcefully. Geschutz shushes her to no avail – a sober Minen can reach legendary levels of rage, but a drunk Minen? Now that is another story entirely. Buchse is beginning to wonder why they decided to go out for drinks in the first place.

"How can they just shut us down!" Minen nearly shouts, attracting some perturbed glances from the other pub-goers. "After all the valuable information we've obtained for this country! All the missions we've completed! All the evidence we've disposed of and threats we've taken out and shit we've put up with! And this is how they repay us! Not even a 'sorry you don't have a job anymore' consolation prize!"

Geschutz sighs wearily. "Yes, it is rather disappointing. A bit of gratitude would not have been misplaced, all things considered. But you can't really blame them for shutting down the Agency. The economy's headed towards collapse – it's no wonder they're cutting corners where they can."

But Minen doesn't seem to be listening. "Absolutely ridiculous," she growls, glaring into her drink. Her cheeks are slightly flushed from the alcohol, and with that grumpy pout on her face she looks every inch the sulking child. Minen tries very hard to distance herself from the "spoiled brat" stereotype, but deep down she's just like the other rich kids. There's a part of her that always expects things to go her way. The thought brings a wry smirk to Buchse's lips.

Her slightly unfocused gaze turns toward him. "And what're you grinning about, you mute bastard? You're just as fucked as the rest of us! … Unless…" Minen's eyes narrow in suspicion. "Unless you have another job offer waiting for you. That's impossible, though. Why would anyone hire your surly ass when they could hire a beautiful girl like me?"

Buchse shrugs, laughing quietly. "Maybe I just have something you don't."

Immediately, Minen's hostile tone changes.

"Whaaat! I can't believe it… Hey, I know! Why don't you put in a good word for me; get me a job there too? We could work together again, just like old times! It'll be great!"

Geschutz looks doubtful. "Do you really have something lined up already? As far as I can tell, openings in our line of work are pretty much nil at the moment…"

Buchse shakes his head. (He can joke around with Minen to his heart's content, but in the end, the girl's right. He's "just as fucked" as she is. He's been an agent of Belfar since he was sixteen years old. That's four long years of Just Following Orders, never thinking about the future, never contemplating what might come to pass. It never occurred to him that the Agency could just cease to be, but now it's done just that, and he's left floating, directionless, in a sea of confusion.)

Minen groans and puts her head in her hands. "What am I gonna do?" she wonders aloud. "I checked every job listing on the way here, and there's _nothing_. I can't go home… Not with my father there… I don't think I could stand being cooped up in that house again…"

Buchse and Geschutz exchange a glance. They're used to being berated by Minen, not feeling pity for her. But somewhere in the middle of her impassioned rants, it's easy to forget that she's younger than both of them. An adult in Ritterschild, perhaps, but elsewhere she would still be considered a child.

Geschutz surreptitiously reaches over and slides her mug away from her. "I think we've had enough for today," he says. "Let's head home and sleep on it, shall we? And who knows? Maybe, in time, opportunities will present themselves. For all of us."

xx

xx

There is an urgent knock at the door.

Buchse's eyes open instantaneously, the product of several hundred nights spent on high-alert guard duty. He hauls himself out of bed with only a muffled yawn and quick stretch of his muscles. His eyes wander to the clock. Six in the morning. What the hell could anyone want with him at this hour?

He peers through the peephole as he tugs on a raggedy old shirt (it's usually best to look somewhat presentable). The man outside his door is a stranger, small and mousey-looking, with a pinched face and a haughty air about him. Doesn't look armed, though. Or particularly dangerous.

Buchse sets about undoing the locks on his door – four of them, to be precise. If there's one thing he's learned over the years, it's that you can never, ever be too careful.

"Ah, hello my good sir," says the man in the hallway. He drops into a deep bow, as if Buchse were some great Lord. "You go by the name of Buchse, correct? I have here an invitation for you from the venerable Lady Halnish, Minister of Foreign Affairs and Third Seat of the Six Court Nobles. She requests your presence this afternoon at Veilstadt, the Halnish family's summer home, to discuss matters of possible… _employment_."

The man hands over a card – delicate gold leaf decorates its edges, and the handwriting is extravagant to say the least, each letter inked with painstaking precision. Buchse stares at it for a moment, bewildered. A job… working for one of Ritterschild's noble families? Is this guy serious? Normally he would be suspicious of such an opportunity falling into his lap, but… What would this man gain by lying to him? It has to be legitimate.

"Thank you," Buchse says, each word cautious and hesitant. "I will… be there. I guess?"

The man beams at him. "Oh, that is wonderful," he says. "Lady Halnish will be ever so pleased to hear that. I realize that this is very short notice, my good sir, but do try to be prompt, yes? No later than three o'clock, I should say. Mistress… does not like to be kept waiting." He tips his hat genially and then departs, disappearing down the hallway before Buchse can say another word.

Buchse closes the door. He stands there for a moment, staring long and hard at the elaborate invitation in his hand.

A day after the dissolution of the Belfar Agency, and he already has a job offer. From the Minister of Foreign Affairs, no less.

What the hell is going on?

xx

xx

In the end, Buchse doesn't tell Geschutz and Minen where he's going. Minen would probably just laugh at him and tell him to "stop making shit up, you mute bastard." (If she's gotten over her inevitable hangover, that is.)

He catches a cab at half past noon – when he tells the driver where he's headed, the man gives him a doubtful once-over. Buchse doesn't own much in the way of formal clothes, and he supposes he must look rather unfit to be visiting nobility. But the driver's not about to ignore a paying customer, and Buchse settles back to enjoy the ride. Sort of. He's never liked cabs much. Too cramped and claustrophobic, and Ritterschild's cobbled streets and dirt roads are notoriously bumpy. After an hour of travel his entire body aches, and he thinks he might bail out and walk if they hit one more pothole. Miraculously, at that very moment the cab rounds a bend in the road and Veilstadt comes into view. For a "summer home" it seems rather austere; tall and imposing, with ivy-laden balconies and marble columns around the front entranceway. The grounds are immaculate, with hedges trimmed just so and not a blade of grass out of place.

The cab lurches to a halt. "Here you are, sir," the driver says, with a snide undertone to his voice. "That'll be 3200 potch, if you please."

It's far too much for an hour long trip, but Buchse shoves the coins into the man's hand anyhow, eager to leave the cab and its dreadful confined space. The outside air, devoid of the city's grime and pollution, is incredibly refreshing, and Buchse finds himself feeling slightly more optimistic about this whole affair. Maybe there's nothing to be worried about after all. The unbelievable timing of this job offer could easily be a coincidence. Right?

Buchse approaches the magnificent double doors that mark the front entrance, marveling at the sheer excess of the place. And yet… There is a strangely oppressive atmosphere blanketing the house. It's fairly sunny today, but every single window is shut, dark curtains drawn like they have something to hide.

"Terribly gloomy, isn't it?"

The voice comes from right behind him, so close that he could easily reach out and touch the speaker. Buchse hardly has time to register his own shock and surprise before his instincts and years of military training kick in. He spins around slams his would-be assailant into the nearest marble column, drawing his pistol lightning-quick and pressing the barrel against their temple. In this split-second, his mind races. No one has ever been able to sneak up on him so effortlessly. No one, that is, except for… Except for…

"You." He breathes the word like an accusation.

"Me!" Tsaubern exclaims, smiling in a way that no person with a gun against their skull has a right to smile. "Might I say that I was not expecting such an exciting reunion! You haven't changed a bit, I see. Still aiming firearms at innocent bystanders."

Buchse lowers his weapon and steps back, his mind reeling. "You… are a Halnish?"

"Unfortunately," Tsaubern replies, still smiling away like everything is right in the world.

It should have been obvious, in hindsight. The way he carries himself, his refined, pompous manner of speaking, the flash of recognizance in Minen's eyes when they first came face to face, the expensive-looking signet ring on his right hand… Not to mention his vast knowledge of "everyone who's anyone." Buchse thinks back, with some trepidation, to his time at Castle Arcadia. So he quite nearly shot the heir to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in the face, eh? Not to mention slamming him into a column just a few moments ago.

… He suspects that this job interview might be over rather quickly.

But Tsaubern seems unruffled. In fact, he is already walking away, motioning for Buchse to follow. "Come along now," he calls. "I'm sure Gregor already told you as much, but it's best not to keep Mother waiting!"

Buchse takes a deep breath. He did come all this way, after all, and there's really no turning back now. With a hint of wariness, he follows Tsaubern into the foreboding interior of the mansion.

xx

xx

Lady Halnish is a petite woman, several inches shorter than her son. Her body seems to be comprised entirely of sharp angles, harsh and unappealing to the eye, and her cheeks are as gaunt and hollow as a skeleton's. She looks ill, and yet… There is a fierceness in her gaze that takes him aback. Frail as she may appear, this is not a woman to trifle with.

"So this is him," she says, looking Buchse up and down. "My dear son requesting a bodyguard was odd enough, since he's outright refused my offers of hired security in the past. But not just any guard would do; it had to be this one. This… 'Buchse.' I wonder, Buchse… What is so special about you?"

Buchse narrows his eyes and glances over at Tsaubern, who merely smirks in that smug, self-congratulating way of his.

"He's quite adept, Mother. An excellent sharpshooter if I've ever seen one. And though he may not speak much, he's really quite intelligent. I cannot think of a better candidate for this position."

Suddenly, Buchse is acutely aware of the tension in the room, so palpable that one can almost see it, crackling through the air like electricity.

"Intelligent _and_ an excellent marksman? And here I just thought he was your _type_."

(Wait, what.)

"Now, now, Mother, let's not embarrass our guest. And it saddens me to know that you think so little of me… Do I really seem like the kind of person who would hire someone for such a base, superficial reason?"

"You've done it before, _darling_. Remember Ewan, the butler-in-training that you picked up off the side of the road? You wheedled me into hiring him, and that boy could hardly carry a plate without dropping it."

A fond smile flits across Tsaubern's face. "Ah, Ewan, of course… Such a charming boy. Incompetent, yes, but so very charming. He had beautiful, clumsy hands…"

Lady Halnish's lips are pressed together in a tight, thin line. She seems more resigned than angry, though, a woman who has given up all hope of ever understanding her child. And Tsaubern seems to take pleasure in being as infuriatingly indiscernible as possible. He is lounging elegantly on a nearby chaise, entirely unconcerned with the goings-on around him.

"So, Buchse…" Lady Halnish turns towards him, once again looking him over with her piercing, judgmental stare. "Where did you meet my son? You're not from this rural backwater, that much I know. So you must have met him during his… _travels_."

Buchse nods. "Castle Arcadia," he replies. "We were both part of Veritas Company."

"Ah, of course. The ragtag band of misfits that brought down the mighty Order. My son absolutely refuses to divulge any information about his time there, so tell me… Exactly how useless was he?"

Tsaubern laughs softly.

"He fought well," Buchse says, and it's the truth. For a pampered noble, Tsaubern had handled himself remarkably well in battle, often putting himself in harm's way to assist his fellow comrades. Buchse clearly remembers an Order ambush in the Wilds of Veile… A wound in his side, making him dizzy from the blood loss… And then, suddenly, the feeling of being whole again as Tsaubern's healing magic enveloped him. After that, he had begun watching Tsaubern more closely. Even though he disliked him, there was something rather… entrancing about the man. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"See, Mother?" Tsaubern is saying. "I wasn't a dead weight in the slightest. You always expect the worst of me, don't you?"

"I wonder why," Lady Halnish mutters, and then shakes her head exasperatedly. "Fine, my dear. You win. You can have your bodyguard if you want him so badly. Buchse, you are to report to me in my study at the end of each week to receive your compensation. And perhaps the two of us will have ourselves a little chat every once in a while, eh? Now, I have work to do. You are dismissed."

"Wonderful!" Tsaubern leaps up off the chaise with the agile grace of a cat. "Follow me, Buchse. I'll lead you to your quarters."

"But my apartment…"

"Taken care of, my friend! As soon as you arrived, I had Gregor head back into town to pay your remaining rent and gather your things."

"…"

"You must be wondering how I knew my mother would agree to this arrangement. Let's just call it a hunch, shall we?" Tsaubern cranes his neck to look at him and winks conspiratorially. "You're just such a stunning conversationalist, I knew she wouldn't be able to resist."

"…"

"And you may be wondering how I knew that _you_ would agree to this arrangement. But that is quite simple, really. I merely took into account your unemployed status, coupled with the low demand for jobs of your particular skill-set. The only other viable option for one such as yourself would be military service, and my extensive background check revealed your distaste for hierarchical bureaucracies like the RAF. Thus, accepting this job was clearly the best and perhaps only option for you."

They walk in silence for a few moments as Buchse tries to absorb this roundabout explanation. And then, suddenly, an idea occurs to him.

"Tsaubern."

"Hmm?"

"The Belfar Agency… Was that you as well?"

Tsaubern pauses. They're climbing an ornate staircase, the marble handrails engraved with delicate floral patterns. Above their heads, a crystal chandelier glitters, and portraits of the Halnish ancestors glare down at them with barely concealed distaste. When he turns to looks at Buchse, his expression is strangely somber.

"What do you think?" he asks. "Was it me?"

Buchse ponders this for a moment, then shakes his head. Instantaneously, Tsaubern's ever-present smile falls back into place.

"Good man. You shouldn't flatter yourself like that, you know. Or me, for that matter. I don't possess that kind of power. My mother doesn't even have that kind of power. In all honesty, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs is rather lacking when it comes to influence."

"On its own, maybe."

Tsaubern side-eyes him for a moment, then bursts out laughing. "Oh goodness. You are a smart one, aren't you? I knew I made the right choice seeking you out."

"I've been doing politicians' dirty work for years now," Buchse says with a half-hearted shrug. "I know how you people operate."

"'You people'? Oh Buchse, you wound me with your callous words! I am nothing like those old fools in the Court, and I am certainly nothing like my dear mother. I brought you here to be my bodyguard, surely, but above all else I brought you here because I need your help."

"My help?"

They've stopped in front of a door now, undoubtedly the door to his new sleeping quarters. Tsaubern locks eyes with him, staring him down with surprising intensity. The smile is still there, but suddenly there is a hard, determined edge to it. Here is a man with a plan of action, who will do anything and everything to see his goals realized. Buchse feels himself tremble, just a bit, in the presence of this person.

"I want to change this country," Tsaubern says. "I want to change it from the inside out. Get rid of this failing government. Put an end to all the corruption and lies. I'm sick of these old men who cling to their wealth and their status while everything goes to hell around them. I'm sick of their derision and their uselessness and their antiquated ideas.

"I'm going to change Ritterschild for the better, Buchse. And you're going to help me do it."

He presses a small silver key into Buchse's palm.

"Sleep tight," he says. "We have a lot of work to do, after all. And don't worry if things seem unclear at first. In time, I promise… Everything will fall into place."


	2. Chapter 2

It turns out that Tsaubern is perhaps the single most impossible person in the world to guard. He vanishes into thin air at random intervals, reappearing hours later, sometimes wearing a different outfit or with a mysterious package tucked under his arm. He spends ridiculous amounts of time climbing trees, and will sit on the highest possible branch, staring off into the distance with a dreamy expression on his face. He has a terrible habit of waking Buchse up in the middle of the night to "stargaze" with him, which has gotten him almost-pistol-whipped more times than either of them can count. And above all else, the most aggravating thing about Tsaubern is that he's always chuckling obnoxiously to himself, never stopping to explain the joke.

After three weeks, Buchse is nearly at wit's end.

"We're going out today," Tsaubern announces, out of the blue. It's early morning, and he's sitting at the dining table, sipping his herbal tea delicately. Lady Halnish glances up from her newspaper and raises one pencil-thin eyebrow.

"Oh really?" she asks. "Out where?"

"Oh, you know. About." Tsaubern makes a broad, fluttery gesture with his hands.

"Mmhmm." Lady Halnish glares at Buchse, as if this is somehow his fault. "I'll allow it, as long you don't try to give your loyal mutt the slip. Honestly, Tsaubern. You're the one who demanded I hire him. What's the point in having a bodyguard if you keep running off on your own? One would think that you lack a sense of basic self-preservation."

_Loyal mutt?_ A muscle beneath Buchse's eye twitches imperceptibly.

"Right you are, Mother Dear," Tsaubern says, with an angelic smile. "I have been acting terribly rash as of late. You have my word as a man of honor that I shall not stray from Buchse's side today."

Lady Halnish sighs and returns to her newspaper. When it comes to Tsaubern, it seems, simple logic is often useless. It's impossible to know what's going on inside his mind.

The cab arrives promptly within the hour (anyone else would've had to place their request a day in advance; nobility definitely has its benefits). Buchse is surprised to see the same cheapskate driver who dropped him off at Veilstadt those few weeks ago. The driver seems to recognize him as well – when he slides into the seat next to Tsaubern, the man's eyes widen.

"Wh-where to, milord?" he stammers, clearly unused to such high-profile clientele.

Tsaubern rolls his eyes. "Downtown Auerberg, the second block of Stonecutter's Lane, if you please."

"O-of course! Stonecutter's Lane it is." The cab shudders to life, steam briefly fogging up the windshield as the engine kicks into gear. They jolt along in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes until Buchse turns to his ward.

"Do you have a meeting?" he asks, quiet enough that the driver can't eavesdrop.

"In a sense," Tsaubern answers. "Though I'd call it more of a… business transaction. Many are upset with the direction this country is headed, but not everyone is willing to join the cause for free."

"You've met with them before, haven't you? Why bring me along all of a sudden?"

"What a silly question, Buchse. You're my right hand man, aren't you? I think it's high time you were involved in my dealings."

Buchse levels him with a blank stare.

"No, really! I said I wanted your help with this, and I meant it. But in all honesty, there is… another reason for your presence today. To put it simply, we are going to be sold out. By one of theirs."

Alarm bells start ringing in Buchse's mind. "Betrayed? But why?"

Tsaubern shrugs. "Because no matter how much I offer, the old men in the Court can offer much, much more. Some people don't give a damn about politics, I'm afraid. Not when they have the chance to line their pockets with potch."

"How do you even know about this?" Buchse asks. _Just how many informants do you have, anyway?_

But Tsaubern merely smiles, mysterious and oh so infuriating.

"Call it a hunch," he says, as the cab hits yet another pothole.

xx

xx

Tsaubern's business partners are a positively delightful bunch. They leer at the two of them like vultures gazing down upon a dying man, sizing up which part would make the easiest pickings. Many of them are missing teeth. Most have jagged scars marring their features, the results of countless bar fights and back alley brawls. One man appears to have only three fingers on each hand, while another has a dark, empty socket where his eye used to be.

Tsaubern, of course, shows no signs of discomfort.

"So, Young Master Tsaubern… I'm amazed that you've stuck to your guns this long." The man across the table is hulking and brutish, with a crooked smile that could make flowers wilt and children cry. "To be honest, I half expected you to call it all off after our last meeting. But nope, you've still got that cocksure grin on your face. I like that about you. You've got balls, even if you do look like a damn pansy."

"Nice to see you too, Ulric. It seems you brought the whole gang out to greet me today. I'm flattered, really I am."

Ulric laughs – a sinister, guttural sound. "Well, you know how it is. Can't never be too careful with you richfolk. Never know what kinda tricks you might pull. But it looks like you only brought one man today…" His beady eyes turn towards Buchse. "Who might this be?"

"This is my associate," Tsaubern says. "Not very talkative, but a wonderful asset to our cause nonetheless."

"You a military man?" Ulric asks, still fixing Buchse with an uncomfortable stare. "Those are some impressive accolades* for such a young guy. Musta been through some tough shit, eh?"

"…"

"Hehe, you're right, he is pretty damn quiet. I like that, though. A man should know when to hold his tongue." At this, Ulric's gaze returns to Tsaubern. "You got the goods, Young Master?"

Tsaubern pulls back the long sleeve of his shirt to reveal a beautiful, gem-laden bracelet on his wrist. The stones, an elegant combination of sapphire and topaz, glitter in the dim light as he unclasps the bracelet and slides it across the table. Immediately, Ulric snatches it up in his great dirty paw, holding it close to his face to scrutinize.

"What do you think?" he mutters to another man, who peers at the gemstones through a magnifying glass.

"It's authentic," the appraiser announces a moment later. "Worth nearly 500,000 potch, I'd wager."

There is a collective intake of breath from the gangsters in the room. That kind of money could buy a man a life of luxury. (Too bad none of them will ever see a cent of it.)

"You didn't actually think I'd try to cheat you, did you?" Tsaubern presses a hand to his heart in mock offense.

"Hehe… You gotta realize, Young Master, that if this thing was a fake, the Boss would have my head long before he had yours. Gotta watch out for my own interests, see?" Ulric grins eerily. "But you know… It must be difficult, parting with precious family heirlooms like this. The Boss is still willing to accept _other_ forms of payment, if you're having second thoughts…"

Ulric's eyes wander down the length of Tsaubern's body, as if he were a particularly fine cut of meat at the market. Buchse suddenly feels rather queasy. His hand reaches unconsciously for his pistol.

Tsaubern's smile falters, but only for a moment. When it returns, there is something cold and unforgiving about it, something that makes even Ulric flinch.

"No," Tsaubern says, and this single, simple word is laden with more disgust and scorn than any impassioned rant Buchse has ever heard. "The bracelet should suffice, I think."

Suddenly, someone bangs on the door.

"This is the NLEC!" An authoritative voice booms, seemingly from all directions. "You are surrounded. Repeat: you are surrounded. Open up this instant or you will be arrested for obstruction of justice!"

Silence falls inside the room.

"Oh dear," Tsaubern murmurs, putting on his best "worried face."

"Repeat: this is the NLEC! We know you are in there. Open this door in the name of the law!"

Ulric's expression is absolutely livid, and he is beginning to turn a rather unhealthy shade of red. "Alright you fuckers," he growls, addressing the crowd of gangsters behind him. "Which one of you bastards sold us out? Huh? WHICH ONE! This is supposed to be secure location, dammit!"

Several wary glances are exchanged.

"If you come forward now," Ulric seethes, "I can promise one thing and one thing only: a quick, mostly painless death. If you choose to be a coward, well… Your end ain't gonna be a pretty one, and there'll be no one to blame but yourself."

"It was him!" one of the gangsters screams, jabbing a finger at Tsaubern. "I know it was him! We never shoulda trusted a noble – he's betrayed us!"

A manic gleam in his eye, he draws a knife from his boot and lunges at Tsaubern, who at least has the dignity to feign surprise. Before he can even get within range, Buchse draws his gun and fires two quick, consecutive shots into the man's kneecaps. Shrieking in pain and rage, the assailant drops to the ground like a ten ton weight. Buchse curls his lip in disgust. Such a pathetic assassination attempt puts a bad taste in his mouth.

Weapons are drawn the instant the man hits the floor. Some of the gangsters have firearms, though they look cheap and shoddily made. Others wield wicked-looking curved blades with serrated edges, meant to cause their victims as much pain as possible. A man in the corner begins to sharpen his throwing daggers one by one, and a particularly nasty fellow in the back slips on a pair of brass knuckles.

Buchse places himself squarely in front of Tsaubern, trigger finger poised and ready. He can't fend off all of them, but he can damn well try.

"Now, now, let's not resort to violence," Tsaubern says, his tone soothing and conciliatory. He touches Buchse's hand, a subtle message to stand down. "You all seem to be under the misapprehension that I am the one to blame for our current predicament. When in fact, this could not be farther from the truth!"

"You don't say?" Ulric sneers at him. "Prove it, then."

Tsaubern smiles and inclines his head obligingly. "Excuse me," he calls. "Officer? Are you still there?"

"Eh? Uh… Yes, yes I am… Oh, right! To all occupants of this room: you have approximately five minutes to open this door before – "

"That's all well and good, sir, but could I ask you a quick question? Do you have any arrest warrants on you at the moment?"

"… Arrest warrants? Hmm, let's see… Ah, yes I do! Several, in fact. One for Kaspar Lange, known widely by his alias 'Ulric,' wanted for assault and battery, four counts of grand larceny, and various other felonies. One for Emmerich 'Schwarzwald' Reiner, wanted for extortion and kidnapping. One for…" The ever-so-helpful officer drones on for several minutes, listing what seems like every gangster in the room, as well as their extensive rap sheets.

"There's one more here," he says finally, surprise and curiosity tingeing his voice. "Strange… This warrant has a proviso… 'Only if found on the premises,' for a one Tsaubern Friedrich Leopold von Halnish III."

Buchse quite nearly says "fuck this, I'm out" right then and there. (_"Oh hey Tsaubern, got anything important to tell me before I take this job?" "Hmm nope can't think of anything although I do happen to be a WANTED MAN but that's no big deal right?"_)

If they make it out of here alive, he is going to punch the idiotic smile off of Tsaubern's face. Lady Halnish will not fault him one bit.

"So as you can see, gentlemen," Tsaubern is saying, "we stand on similar ground. None of us are exempt from the eyes of the law… None of us, that is, except one." He directs his gaze toward the man from earlier, who is still writhing in pain on the floor. "If he thinks the Court will simply give him his money and let him be on his way, he is sorely mistaken. An honest agreement means little to them, much less a deal made under the table."

Ulric stares down at the man, realization slowly dawning on his face. His beady eyes harden like two chips of flint. Ulric may be a person who thrives on deception, but even he cannot stomach a traitor.

This tense moment is interrupted by the sound of muffled movement outside the door. Something small and metallic rolls underneath it and into the room. Something that looks suspiciously like a military-issue smoke bomb.

_This is the worst job ever,_ Buchse thinks, and then everything turns to chaos around them.

xx

xx

Later, he will reflect upon their escape with bewilderment. He isn't sure how he manages to pry the window open and immobilize all the NLEC agents stationed below despite the acrid smoke clouding his vision. He isn't sure how he manages to shove Tsaubern out the window without killing the idiot. He isn't sure how they manage to edge their way across a tiny ledge until they reach a fire escape, make their way to the top of the building, and then hurl themselves bodily across a seven-foot gap to the roof of the adjacent house.

But in the end, he thinks, it really doesn't matter. What matters is making good on his promise to punch the living daylights out of Tsaubern.

Which he does.

With much aplomb.

"Goodness, you have a mean right hook," Tsaubern says, massaging his jaw and looking somewhat bemused. "I suppose I deserved that, but still… Wow. Tone it down a little next time, eh? My face is my most prized asset."

"…"

"Yes, yes, I probably should have mentioned the arrest warrant. But you did hear the proviso, did you not? Those old fools can't pin anything on me unless they catch me in the act."

"Which they almost did."

"But they didn't," Tsaubern says cheerily. "And for that I must thank you, my friend. It was a wonderfully-executed escape!"

Buchse glances up at the sky, as if pleading with some deity to _please, please grant me strength enough to not kill the man I've been hired to guard_.

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**a/n; *** accolades - I'm sure this is explained in some supplementary material somewhere, but... welp. I have decided that the tattoos on Geschutz & Buchse's faces are in fact "medals of honor" of a sort, each individual "bar" representing a commendable achievement in the line of duty. The more accolades a soldier has, the more accomplished he's been (to put it in the simplest of terms).


	3. Chapter 3

**a/n;;** lol MORE THAN A YEAR LATER, I FINALLY UPDATE….  
>suddenly i remember why i don't usually write longfic<p>

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"I'm going to kill him," Buchse says matter-of-factly. "I really, truly am. It's only a matter of time."

Minen snorts into her mug – non-alcoholic this time, thanks to some quick thinking on Geschutz's part. "I still can't believe you're working for _him_ of all people. That guy keeps showing up in the weirdest of ways." She frowns. "But the real question is: how the hell did you manage to score a job the DAY AFTER Belfar went down? It's mighty fucking suspicious if you ask me."

"That's what I'm thinking as well," Geschutz says, stroking his newly-grown goatee thoughtfully. "I've been hanging around the… well, the _less savory_ parts of town as of late, and I've heard some odd rumors about Tsaubern. They say," and here Geschutz leans in and lowers his voice to a whisper, "he's amassed a sizeable force of powerful and dangerous allies. They say he's got his own political agenda – that he's trying to take down the Court from the inside."

Buchse shrugs. "Well, yeah," he says. "That's exactly what he's doing."

Geschutz and Minen stare at him, uncomprehending.

"You're kidding me."

"No fuckin' way."

Buchse takes a nonchalant sip of his drink. "It's true," he says. "Tsaubern's trying to start a revolution. And as much as I'd like to strangle the man, I've got to admit… His resolve is impressive."

Minen shakes her head in amazement. "I'm not sure which is more shocking," she murmurs. "Young Master Halnish starting a rebel army, or Buchse speaking more than one sentence at a time. Something must be in the water."

"'Something in the water,' indeed. That's dangerous talk," Geschutz says, eyeing him warily. "Are you sure you should be telling us this?"

"Well there's already a warrant out for his arrest, so it doesn't matter much at this point." Buchse massages his temples in an attempt to dispel the pounding headache that has been plaguing him for days on end. "If he mentions that _proviso_ one more time… As if that somehow cancels out that fact that's he on the Most Wanted list! Ugh."

Minen is staring at him again, mouth slightly agape. Geschutz, on the other hand, has that _look_ on his face – a look Buchse knows all too well from countless missions-gone-sour. It's an expression that reads "get out while you still can."

"It's strange," Minen says slowly, as if experiencing an epiphany that very moment. "You seem truly, honestly worked up over this guy. How's he different from any other dumbass politician we've guarded in the past? And don't give me some bullshit about his 'exceptional fiscal policy.' We both know you don't give a damn about the government – you'd probably jump at the chance to live alone in the wilderness, far away from any trace of civilization."

Buchse opens his mouth to voice some witty retort, but finds himself unable. _What __**is**__ different about Tsaubern?_ he wonders. _Why do I care?_ It dawns on him that he doesn't know anything about Tsaubern's political platform. What is his stance on military spending? Civil liberties? Aid for the working poor?

He plans to change the country, but how? Through honest diplomacy or shadowy dealings or perhaps… even force? Here is a man who has no qualms striking bargains with foreign crime lords, who exploits his own wealth to gain their favor. Here is a man who keeps countless secrets even from those closest to him, choosing to be evasive and mysterious when questioned. Here is a man who often speaks in half-truths, his words manipulative and empty.

And yet.

"Sometimes I look over and there's this, this… edge to him." Buchse's brow furrows as he tries to put his feelings into words. "He looks dangerous, y'know? But not in a way that frightens me. Instead it's like he's waiting for an opportunity. Preparing for it. Rehearsing it in his mind. I look at him and I think… 'Someday this man is going to do something great.'"

.

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"I'm worried," Geschutz says.

It's late, and the streets are empty and dark but for the faint yellow-orange glow of the gas lamps. Shadows pool around their ankles, and foul-smelling steam billows up out of the sewer grates. They're on their way back to Geschutz's apartment – the cabs have long since ceased their rounds, so Buchse has no choice but to spend the night. Minen's arms are wrapped a little too tightly around his neck, and her soft snores echo in his ear. (They were watching her the whole damn night! How she managed to sneak enough alcohol to knock herself out was anyone's guess.)

"Worried? About what?"

"About you."

(Huh. He wasn't expecting that.)

"No need," Buchse says gruffly. He can't remember the last time someone expressed concern for his wellbeing. "I can take care of myself, you know."

"I know. But… It's strange, seeing you like this. You're so different. Suddenly there's all these emotions on your face that I've never seen before. That I didn't think you were even capable of." Geschutz is several paces ahead of him, but Buchse can almost feel the weight of his perplexed frown. "That Tsaubern boy… He's already had an effect on you. Whether it's for the best or not, I couldn't say, but… I'm worried that you may be forgetting some rather important facts."

"Like what?"

"Well, for one: you're hired muscle. A human shield, if necessary. No matter how he treats you, no matter what inspiring words he uses, there will always be a power imbalance between the two of you. He is your ward, and you are his guard. Nothing more, nothing less."

Buchse stares at Geschutz's back blankly. "Thanks," he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I never would've realized."

"But that's just it!" Geschutz exclaims angrily, fists clenching at his sides. "You're in too deep, Buchse. You're being swept up in this, this… _ideal_ of his, and you're forgetting your training! Agents of Belfar have no opinions, no beliefs or prejudices or political leanings. They have one purpose and one purpose only: to complete the mission. You're letting him manipulate you, letting him turn you into another one of his pawns. Which is exactly what we've fought against all these years!"

They walk in silence for a few minutes, until Geschutz's tense, breakneck pace begins to slow. His shoulders slump tiredly.

"But I suppose that doesn't matter anymore," he murmurs. "Belfar's gone, after all. No need to uphold the old rules any longer, eh?"

(He's known Geschutz long enough that it's easy to forget the accolades that decorate his face, memories of youthful heroics and sacrifices made long ago. It's easy to forget that, as a fresh-faced boy of seventeen, this man fought in the harsh, bloody war against Janam. And it's easy to forget how terribly _alone_ he is, the only veteran who remembers how he got his battle scars.)

"… No," Buchse says quietly. "I guess not."

Later, he lies on the hard wooden floor of Geschutz's apartment, staring up at the cracked plaster ceiling, listening to the soft sound of Minen mumbling in her sleep. (He takes the floor, Geschutz takes the awkward old armchair, and Princess Minen gets the bed. That's the way it's always been. They are nothing if not gentlemen.)

"I'm going to join the army again," Geschutz says. Buchse can just barely make out his face in the gloom. "It's the only thing left for someone like me."

"…"

"I'll do my best to get word around. About Tsaubern, that is. If we can stir up some dissent among the ranks, he'll have a better shot at staging a coup when the time comes."

"Thank you," Buchse says, and he means it sincerely (though he's not sure why).

"I wish I knew more about what he stands for, but… You obviously have faith in him, and that's reason enough for me." There is a hint of embarrassment in his voice, and Geschutz clears his throat pointedly. "I'm sick and tired of watching kids like you and Minen grow up in a place like this, is all. It's not right, the way this country's being run into the ground. It's not right at all."

Silence falls, and soon enough Geschutz's breathing evens out as he drifts off to sleep.

Buchse, on the other hand, is still wide awake, his thoughts meandering aimlessly. Tsaubern is probably out on his balcony right now, gazing up at the stars with the telescope he built himself. He's probably flipping through some ancient book of Auster Folk myths or Lonomakuan legends, reading the stories of the constellations. _Come look at this star,_ he would say, turning to Buchse with a smile. _It's so beautiful tonight_ –

Buchse shakes his head, dispelling the mental image.

_Faith?_ he wonders. _Is that what this feeling is?_

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.

"So let me get this straight. You are willingly attending a party hosted by a man who wants you dead."

"But of course. Have to keep up appearances, my friend! Can't have anyone thinking me a coward, now can I?"

"And you plan to leave me – your only security detail – behind."

Tsaubern sighs exasperatedly, as if he were explaining something to a particularly dense child. "Obviously! What would it look like if I showed up with a bodyguard in tow? They would mark me as easy prey. A wary, frightened man; a man who is easily bullied into submission. If I bring you along, Buchse, they will write me off as a weak-hearted fool."

Buchse closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

"That may be the case, _sir_," he says through gritted teeth, "but I cannot allow you to attend unsupervised. You do realize what could happen, right? Someone could easily kill you and claim it was in self defense. Someone could easily slip incriminating evidence into your pocket, giving them grounds to arrest you right then and there. Someone could easily get you alone and – "

"Yes, yes, all right. I get it." Tsaubern pinches the bridge of his nose. "But you absolutely cannot come as my bodyguard. We'll have to pass you off as someone more innocuous. My date, perhaps?"

"Your… date."

"Mmhmm. Actually, the more I think about it… I would be letting everyone down if I didn't show up with a date! The public expects certain things from me, you know. Being seen in the company of attractive individuals is one of them." Tsaubern winks. "We'll have to find you some suitable clothes, then. And cover up your tattoos – don't want anyone from the Ministry of Defense recognizing you. Wait right here, will you? You certainly won't fit into any of my clothes, so I'll have to browse through my father's old formalwear…"

Tapping his chin thoughtfully, Tsaubern walks out of the room.

Buchse lowers himself down on to the bed with a sigh. This, he knows, is going to be utterly dreadful. An elegant cocktail party… The Ritterschildian elite in all their austere, haughty glory… And now he's going to be stuffed into Tsaubern's dead father's old three-piece suit. It's like he's watching some sort of disaster unfold before his very eyes, and yet there's nothing he can do to avert it.

"Let me guess," a voice says. "Your attempts to dissuade him fell upon deaf ears, and now you have been assigned the honorary title of 'date.' Am I right?"

He glances up to see Lady Halnish leaning against the doorframe. There are dark, weary circles beneath her eyes, and her smile is faint and sardonic.

Buchse nods, feeling almost as tired as she looks.

"As I suspected," she murmurs. "Tsaubern is always trying to shock my fellow Councilmembers with his choice of companions. Two years ago he attended Lord Krauss' Winter Ball with a set of acrobatic triplets he picked up from a travelling sideshow. It seems this year he's playing it a bit on the safe side, though. No offense intended, Buchse, but you are hardly gossip-worthy. There must be something weighing heavily on his mind for him to forget his war against delicate sensibilities."

Here, Lady Halnish levels him with a piercing stare, and Buchse looks away, feeling more than a little uncomfortable with the turn this conversation is taking.

"Don't think I don't know what he's up to," she says. "I may not be as sharp as I once was, but I am not by any means blind. I still have my wits about me, enough to keep track of what goes on within my own home at the very least.

"But all the same, I understand why he has not confided in me. And I am glad… that he has you by his side." She clears her throat awkwardly, averting her gaze. "I am afraid that I do not know Tsaubern as well as I used to. He has drifted away from me these past few years. But he… He is still my son, and I worry for him. I fear he is getting in over his head. His lofty ideals cloud his vision from time to time, you see. I hope that you will stay with him, Buchse. I hope that you will keep him grounded, because otherwise…"

Lady Halnish trails off and sighs quietly, running a hand through her hair.

"Keep an eye on him at the party," she says, and turns on her heel to walk away.

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"Your mother knows," Buchse says as he shrugs on a plain white dress shirt. Tsaubern has the grace to look momentarily startled before his guise of composure slips back into place.

"Of course she does," he says. "She's not an idiot. Now hold still."

He sits down on the bed next to Buchse and puts a hand on his chin, turning his face to just the right angle, makeup brush poised and at the ready. Buchse stares at the landscape painting on the wall as Tsaubern begins the long process of hiding his tattoos. He tries to think of nothing but the lovely watercolor trees, but the warmth of Tsaubern's fingers against his skin is strangely distracting. Not to mention the fact that he's wearing a dead man's shirt.

"How did your father die?" he asks.

"The war against Janam," Tsaubern replies, and his tone is distant, detached, like it's a stranger he's speaking of.

There is a sinking feeling in the pit of Buchse's stomach.

"So… That means…"

From the corner of his eye he sees Tsaubern nod, lips pressed together in a thin line.

"When I returned home from Castle Arcadia, I thought there was something terribly… off about her. She was so much… _less_ than before, and I couldn't understand why. In the wake of defeating the Order I suppose I got caught up in the excitement; I forgot just how much the world had been changed. One day I went to her study, and she was sitting there, staring at a box full of his old belongings. And she said, 'Tsaubern, I think I may be losing my mind. For the life of me, I can't remember how your father died.'"

Tsaubern pauses then, his fingertips ghosting gently across Buchse's neck, right above his pulse. Buchse feels the strangest urge to reach out and touch him, but instead his hands curl into the fabric of the bedsheet, twisting it into knots.

"I explained it to her, of course, and she accepted my story. But only because it was easier, I think. Easier than the idea that she could've forgotten on her own." Here, Tsaubern laughs, but the sound rings hollow. "It's so strange, isn't it? How the world has just continued on like nothing happened. Thousands of people are gone, an entire kingdom has vanished, and we of the Veritas Company are the only ones who remember. I wonder… What makes us so special?"

Buchse stares out once more at the painting on the wall, the speckle of multicoloured flowers near the bottom and the rolling hills in the background, and finds it oddly unsettling.

"I wish I knew," he murmurs.

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He hardly recognizes himself. His normally messy hair is slicked back neatly, and with his tattoos hidden he looks younger, somehow. Normal. Less threatening. The suit is a bit musty from storage, certainly, but it's still the fanciest thing Buchse has ever worn, and he turns in front of the mirror, examining himself from all angles with a critical eye.

"Very sharp, my friend," Tsaubern says with a wink. "The sleeves are a little long on you and the shoulders are a little wide, but it's hardly noticeable."

"Not a fan of the tie," Buchse mutters, tugging at his collar. Ever since that incident with the assassin-for-hire in Isselheim, he has not enjoyed having anything tight around his neck. (Honestly, he thinks, what kind of shoddy hitman asphyxiates their target? A bullet to the head is so much easier.)

"Yes, they're awfully constricting, aren't they? But this is a formal affair, and anyone in my entourage must be dressed to the nines, Buchse." Tsaubern strikes a bit of a pose, smiling at his reflection. His three-piece suit is brilliantly white with subtle blue detailing; it stands out in sharp contrast next to Buchse's black. "It's a rule of mine. You understand, don't you?"

Buchse merely sighs in response.

This is going to be a long, long night.


End file.
